The Sparrow sliced through the cerulean waves under a scorching Mombasa sun. With every stroke of the oars, the city grew closer, a sprawling mass of sand and stone whispered of adventure and danger. Arieshell stood at the prow, her eyes narrowed against the glare, her heart racing with anticipation.

"Land ho!" she called, her voice clear as a bell.

Jacques, at the helm, squinted ahead. "Aye, I see it," he confirmed. "Looks like we've arrived."

The city of Mombasa grew before them like an ancient sentinel, its fortifications a testament to the battles it had seen, both against the sea and the men who sought to conquer it. The docks teemed with activity—sailors shouting orders, merchants haggling over exotic goods, and the constant rhythm of the city's heartbeat, the drums, echoed in the distance.

As the Sparrow approached, Arieshell noticed a figure waiting for them on the dock—a man with a sharp gaze and skin darker than the rich earth of Africa. He had a lean, muscular build; dreadlocks reached his shoulders, his mustache mirroring his self-assurance.

"Looks like we've got company," Gus murmured, hand hovering near his pistol.

Jacques nodded, his eyes never leaving the dock. "Let's not jump to conclusions. He might be friendly, he might be hostile.

They tied up the ship with swift, efficient movements, the crew's tension palpable as the mysterious figure waited for them. As they stepped onto the dock, the man approached, his gait deliberate. He wore a simple shirt and trousers, yet his posture spoke of authority and experience.

Mombasa welcomed them; his voice spoke volumes of world travels.

With his dreadlocks tied back, his face etched with lines that told of battles both physical and mental revealed. His blue eyes, sharp and clear, searched each of them as he spoke.

Jacques stepped forward, extending a hand. "Jacques Ballou. This is my crew—Arieshell, Gus, Belle, the others still on the ship."

The man's handshake was a powerful grip, confident and resolute, his palm surprisingly cool and devoid of moisture, exuding an air of assuredness that lingered long after our hands parted.

"Ebenezer Price," he introduced himself. We received word of your arrival. I've been waiting."

Jacques felt a tickle of surprise. "How did you know?" he asked.

Ebenezer's smile was knowing. "This is Mombasa, Captain. News travels fast, especially for those with the right ears."

How did he know our arrival? We had sent no word ahead. The thought gnawed at him like a stubborn knot in a piece of rope.

Jacques studied Ebenezer's sharp features, the way his eyes seemed to see beyond their present moment and into the very heart of the journey they'd undertaken. The blue in his gaze was like the ocean's depths—mysterious, vast, and full of hidden currents.

"Why have you come to Mombasa?" the man asked, his voice a smooth blend of African lilt and British accent.

Belle stepped forward, her eyes never leaving Ebenezer's. "We're looking for someone. My friend William Whershie. He came here searching for something—rare cacao beans."

Ebenezer's expression remained unchanged, but Jacques caught a flicker of something—interest or recognition?—in those piercing eyes.

"Ah, the young man with dreams of alchemy," he murmured.

"You know him?" Belle's voice was confident.

Ebenezer nodded. "Indeed. William was here. He came with a hunger for knowledge, a quest for something more than mere sustenance. His eyes held the spark of a man who'd tasted legend and could not rest until he'd found its source."

The crew of the Sparrow exchanged glances, the tension in their bodies unfurling slightly. If anyone knew William's whereabouts, it was this man who spoke of him with such knowing.

"Ebenezer," Jacques said slowly, "we've followed a trail of whispers across the sea. We need to find William. We think he might've found trouble."

The man's eyes searched each of them, his expression unreadable. "And why is it so important that you find him?"

Belle stepped forward, her voice steady despite the tremble in her chest. "William Whershie is my best friend. We grew up together, chasing the same dreams, sharing the same stories. He came to Mombasa looking for something special. Rare cacao beans for his chocolate craft."

Ebenezer's gaze remained on her, unwavering. "And why do you seek him now?"

"It's been six years since I've seen him. I fear for his life!" She cried.

Ebenezer studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Follow me."

He led them through the bustling docks, weaving between the chaos of men and merchandise. The city of Mombasa unfolded around them—a tapestry of sails, spices, and secrets. The air was thick with the scents of exotic foods and the cries of market traders.

Jacques noticed the way people watched them—sailors and traders with curious glances that held a hint of suspicion. Arieshell's hand slid into his, her grip firm and reassuring. They adventured to too many places together, but this was different. The air here hummed with unspoken tension.

Ebenezer took them to a small tavern, its wooden walls scarred by time and the salty air. Inside, it was dimly lit, with a smoky haze that clung to everything. The patrons fell silent as they entered, eyes following them to a table in the back.

"Now," he said, watching them sit and order drinks, "Tell me everything you know about William's search."

Jacques shared the story they had formed from fragmented rumors and their instincts. William arrived in Mombasa in pursuit of rare cacao beans, but became enthralled by an age-old legend—a River of Youth said to offer eternal life to those who discovered it. The atmosphere around them fell silent, interrupted only by the occasional clatter of tankards and the faint sounds of laughter in the distance.

Ebenezer listened intently, his eyes never leaving Jacques's. When he spoke, his voice calculated. "A dangerous quest. Many have sought it and never returned."

Jacques leaned forward, his palms flat on the table. "But you think it's real?"

Ebenezer's gaze flicked to the map spread before them, then back to Jacques. "Real or not, it's the path he chose. And it's not a simple story to dismiss. There's truth in it—whether in the river's magic or the men it draws in."

Gus leaned in, curiosity piqued. "So, you're saying this isn't just about beans?"

Ebenezer's smile was knowing. "Oh, the beans are part of it, no doubt. But William... he had a thirst for more than just chocolate."

The tavern door swung open, letting in a gust of cool air and the scent of the sea. A man with a scarred face and a heavy gait stepped inside, scanning the room before his eyes settled on their table.

Jacques tensed, but Arieshell's grip on his arm was reassuring. "It's alright," she whispered. "He's one of the good ones."

The scarred man approached, a bottle of rum in one hand, a grin on his other. "Ebenezer, my friend!" he boomed, slapping a hand on the table. "You've got guests!"

Ebenezer's eyes flickered to the newcomer, a spark of amusement in their depths. "Always the dramatic entrance, Jabari."

Jabari chuckled, his teeth flashing in the candlelight. He was broad-shouldered and tall, with a face that had seen more than its share of battles, yet his eyes held a warmth that immediately put the crew at ease."

Jabari, meet Jacques, Gus, Arieshell, and Belle," Ebenezer said, gesturing to each of them. "They're here looking for a friend."

Jabari nodded, his expression turning serious. "Ah, William," he murmured, setting down the bottle of rum. "I know the name. A man of peculiar tastes, yes?"

Jacques leaned in. "You know him?"

"Know of him," Jabari corrected, his smile fading. "A curious fellow, that one. He talked of a river that flows with youth."

Arieshell's gaze sharpened. "The River of Youth. Have you seen him?"

Jabari's expression grew solemn. "I have not," he admitted. "But I have heard whispers. William was asking around before he disappeared. People had seen him at the old mining outposts, looking for clues. They say he's gone upriver, into the jungle."

Belle's eyes lit with a mix of excitement and fear. "The jungle? That's where the legend says the river is."

Ebenezer's gaze grew distant. "The jungle holds many dangers. And not just from animals."

Jacques nodded gravely. "We're aware. But we have to find him."

Ebenezer's eyes searched their faces, and then he spoke. "If you're going after him, you need to be ready. There are things in that jungle that no man should face alone."

He led them through the city's outskirts, the cobblestone streets giving way to packed earth. The air grew dense, filled with the scent of greenery and the distant murmur of wildlife. The jungle loomed ahead, a wall of shadows and whispers.

"We must tread lightly here," Ebenezer warned. "The eyes of the forest are many, and not all are friendly."

The group fell into a tense silence as they approached the edge of civilization, where the bustling marketplace's vibrant chaos faded into a soft, natural orchestration of night. The once-rambunctious clamor of merchants haggling and children laughing gave way to the rhythmic serenade of crickets, their chirps echoing like distant whispers through the thickening night air.

Above, the last vestiges of light surrendered to the encroaching darkness, while the melodic calls of tropical birds punctuated the stillness, hinting at the untamed wilderness just beyond. The jungle's embrace enveloped them, its humid breath rich with the scent of damp earth and blooming flora, thick with the promise of adventure—and the lurking threat of peril that lay hidden within its depths.

Jacques tightened his grip on the map, the parchment crinkling beneath his thumb. "We've got to be careful. Whoever took William knew what they were doing—luring him into this."

"Or maybe he went willingly," Gus suggested, his eyes on the dense foliage ahead. "If he believed in this river... in its power."

Arieshell nodded. "Either way, we follow the trail he's left behind."

The path grew narrow, the jungle thickening around them like a living wall of green. The air grew denser, humid, and ripe with the scent of exotic blossoms and the distant calls of creatures unseen.

Above, the canopy of leaves filtered the sun's rays into a mottled pattern on the ground, casting a dappled light that played tricks on their eyes.

Jacques led the way, machete in hand, hacking through the dense underbrush. Gus was right behind him, ever vigilant. Arieshell followed, her eyes on the treetops, searching for signs of danger—or William. The rest of the crew walked in a tight formation, muskets and pistols at the ready.

They'd split into groups, as planned, but the tension remained high.

Belle's hand trembled as she clutched the map William had left behind—his scribbled notes and the faded path he'd drawn to the river's supposed location. She hadn't realized how much she missed him until now, until the reality of his disappearance was a tangible, suffocating thing around her neck.

The jungle was vast, a labyrinth of green that whispered secrets in a language they didn't understand. Jacques noticed her distress, his anxiety mirrored in her eyes. He stepped closer, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Belle," he began, his voice low, "are you okay?

Her gaze snapped up to meet his, and for a moment, she looked lost. "I'm scared," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "What if we don't find him?"

Jacques squeezed her shoulder gently. "We will," he said, the conviction in his voice unshakeable. "We've faced worse, remember?"

Her eyes searched his, seeking reassurance. "But what if the legend is just that-a legend?"

Jacques took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "We'll deal with that when we get there. For now, let's stick to what we know. William believed in this. And if it's something he willed to risking everything for..."

Arieshell nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. "I'll find him," she said with the certainty of the sea at high tide.

Jacques watched her retreating form, feeling a swell of pride and concern. The jungle was no place for the unprepared, and while she had her gifts, he knew the perils that could lie hidden in its embrace.

He called after her, his voice carrying across the water. "Arieshell, be careful."

Her eyes, reflecting the moon's glow, turned back to him. "I will," she promised, her voice as soft as a siren's call.

Then she slipped away, diving into the water with barely a ripple.

Jacques watched her disappear beneath the surface, then turned to Gus, his expression tight. "We need to keep moving."

Gus nodded, his own eyes reflecting the moon's glow. "Aye, Captain. We'll find him, or the truth of it."

They ventured further inland. The jungle growing denser, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and the hum of life. The crew walked in single file, machetes slicing through the underbrush, eyes peeled for any sign of William or the river.

Suddenly, the path opened into a clearing, revealing an unexpected sight. Before them stood a group of individuals, their skin lined with the whispers of centuries, yet their eyes alight with the youth of unspoken secrets. They dressed in garb made from the very fabric of the jungle—leaves, vines, and feathers that fluttered in the breeze like living tapestries.

The group paused, unsheathing their weapons warily. The individuals regarded them with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Their leader, a woman with hair the color of copper and eyes as ancient as the surrounding trees, stepping forward.

"You are not of the river," she said, her voice carrying the echo of water over rocks. "What brings you to our sanctuary?"

Jacques lowered his sword, hand outstretched in peace. "We seek a friend," he said. "A man named William. He came looking for the River of Youth."

The copper-haired woman's eyes narrowed. "Why do you wish to disturb the balance?"

Jacques took a step forward, his voice firm but calm. "We mean no harm to your sanctuary. Hope and desperation drive our lost friend. We only wish to bring him home."

The copper-haired woman regarded him for a long moment before gesturing for her people to stand down. "I'm Mawiyah, the chief of The Ancient Eternal Tribe. We know of your friend," she said, her eyes flicking to Belle. "He sought what we protect. But he was kind, and his intentions are pure."

Her words brought a glimmer of hope to Belle's eyes, and she stepped forward. "Please," she begged. "If he's here, let us see him. He's all I have left."

Mawiyah's gaze softened. "He is not with us. But he was here. He found the river."

Belle's eyes grew wide with wonder. "The River of Youth? Is it real?"

Mawiyah offered a sad smile. "It is more than real, child. It is the lifeblood of our existence. But it is also a prison."

Jacques's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

She sighed. "Our river sings to those who seek it. It whispers promises of eternal youth, of healing and rebirth. It is a siren's call to those who wish to conquer time."

Jacques felt his chest tighten. "A voice lured William?"

Mawiyah nodded. "It is its nature. But fear not. The purest of intentions drew him. To create something beautiful, as your human hearts wish to do."

And then, as if on cue, Arieshell popped out from the water, her eyes wide with excitement. "Jacques! I've found something!"

Her skin glistened with river water, and her hair clung to her face like a second skin. She was a vision of the sea itself—beautiful and wild—as she clambered up the riverbank. The water rushing around her.